


The Golem of Denerim

by anthologyofwhat (lea_hazel)



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Jewish Legend & Lore
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Canon-Typical Violence, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Golems, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Storytelling, Tumblr: dragonagefanweek, unlikely friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lea_hazel/pseuds/anthologyofwhat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where the mage Wilhelm never acquired Shale's control rod, the golem winds up deactivated and forgotten in an attic somewhere in Denerim. </p><p>A fusion with '<em>The Golem of Prague</em>', a 19th century fable taking place in the 16th century.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The prologue was written for DAFW's Shale week and was developed later. The first draft was posted to my tumblr, and this edited and much improved second draft is courtesy of my excellent beta Hagar.

In the city of Denerim, the capital of Ferelden, there is an alienage. A walled quarter, rank and shady, houses built upon houses, home to hundreds if not thousands of families. Its walls have provided a sense of community to its dwellers, not to mention a sense of safety, for centuries. Many strange stories have emerged from the Denerim alienage, twisted beyond reckoning by word of mouth and the vagaries of time, till no one could tell what was true and what was legend. This is one such story, and it takes place during the troubled years of the Fifth Blight. This is the story of the golem of Denerim.

In those days the elves of the alienage saw much sorrow and injustice. They were frequently persecuted by laws and regulations, and faced frequent harassment by the Arl of Denerim and his men. These were difficult times, and the alienage's _hahren_ , an elder and teacher of some renown, struggled to protect his people from the cruelty of their masters. Incurring the wrath of the Arl of Denerim could lead to the alienage being dissolved altogether, and its people left with no recourse.

Many felt helpless, but there was little they could do. At that time it was against the law for any elf to bear arms within the city limits, let alone strike a human, even in self defense. When trouble came to the alienage, most retreated to their homes to lock their doors and bar their windows and wait for the storm to pass, as they had so many times before. Most, but not all.

Among the elves of the alienage at that time was a learned man, a teacher and scholar, by the name of Cyrion Tabris. Although he was not an elder of the alienage, he was well-respected in the community. Bereaved of his wife and only child, he well knew the cost of taking up arms against the lords of the city. Although the aggressions of the Arl and his soldiers grieved and angered him, he was a wise man and a patient man. In his desperation to protect his neighbors and his community, he hatched a plan.

For Cyrion was, as I have said, a learned man. He had in his possession an ancient text, an old book of no monetary value, a dusty tome of lore. This tome was the fabled Book of Creation, and held many secrets both dark and forbidden. Inscribed with the sacred signs of the elements, it held esoteric knowledge that was thought lost forever. This was the source of the power that Cyrion the learned sought to awaken, although he feared even then that he would not be able to control it.

Within the alienage was a crumbling hall in which community meetings, wedding and funerals were held. Deep beneath the building, in the lowest cellar, in the damp and dark, was hidden a magnificent and dangerous thing. Forged of stone and steel and deadly lyrium, a warrior ten feet tall with fists like huge hammers and still, unfeeling eyes. Once it had been part of an army raised by an empire, against all law and reason, soldiers of the earth given a stolen life. Now it stood as still and lifeless as a statue, but no more.

With the power of the Book of Creation in his hands, and his two apprentices assisting by his side, Cyrion Tabris sought to give the spark of life to a statue that had lain dormant for centuries. To protect his people against their oppressors, he was willing to violate the gravest, most sacred prohibitions he was taught. But such grim power was not given to the hands of mortals to wield, and the creature that was raised would not long obey his new master's commands. Thus was created the golem of Denerim.

_\-- From Tales of the Fifth Blight, as gathered and told by Sera Attala._


	2. The Invocation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the role of Rabbi Loew is played by Cyrion Tabris.

_Anaris beham Geldauran dirthen hahrevas viruthnan zedim khir turiel yisala._

I was there when my uncle woke the golem.

No one knows where the golem came from, or how it came to the attic of Alarith's shop. Rumor has it that some of the buildings in the alienage have secret passages that lead to the outer city, the big noble estates. You know, from the time when the Orlesian nobility would keep their mistresses hidden in the alienage and sneak in to see them. Makes a good story, but I don't know if it's true. I _do_ know how Uncle knew it was there, though. Mother told me that when they were young, Alarith and he used to drink themselves stupid every night, and that Alarith used to lose to Uncle in cards on the regular. He told him everything he knew and had to swear him to secrecy.

It was after the wedding and everything that came after. Maybe Uncle still wasn't right in the head. Maker knows the rest of us were pretty messed up and he had lost his only child. Mother expected him to start drinking again, but instead he started reading. I never knew my uncle had so many books in his house. He read for days and weeks and would not let anyone in. When mother brought him food she stood yelling at the doorway that she wouldn't let him starve and she was prepared to make a scene.

Then one day he came out. He looked like a dead man, but then who could blame him? People whispered behind his back, not that they bothered being quiet about it. He must have heard them. When he came into the house my mother shrieked and beat him about the head with her kerchief, wailing about how he was trying to kill her with worry. Uncle just waited out her tears and then sat down to dinner with us as though nothing had happened. After mother had gone to bed he caught me by the arm and took me aside.

"Come to my house first thing in the morning tomorrow, Shianni," he said, "and bring your cousin."

I tried to ask him questions but he just shook his head and wouldn't answer them.

"What happened will never recur," was all he would say.

Well, what could I do? The very next morning I ambushed Soris -- that's my cousin -- on his way to work and told him all about it. The great thing about Soris is that he can be talked into just about anything as long as you keep at him and don't let go. Of course, I had no trouble convincing him to come with me to Uncle's house or else. He muttered and complained the whole way, but he followed me all the same.

Uncle looked worse than before. He handed us both boxes to carry and took us to Alarith's shop, told us to wait outside. When I got bored of waiting I went inside and that's when I heard them arguing.

"What's going on, Uncle?" I asked.

"Wait outside like I told you, Shianni," said Uncle.

"Cyrion," said Alarith, "you can't think to go through with this insanity!" I couldn't say if he was more angry or more afraid.

Uncle leaned in close to him and said something I couldn't make out.

Alarith balked and called him mad. But, just like Soris, when Uncle kept at him he eventually gave up. He took a key out from behind his counter and threw it on the floor, angry-like, and stormed out of the shop in a huff, grousing about not being able to watch what came next.

With the key in hand, Uncle led us to the attic. That's where the golem was. Of course, at the time I had no idea what it was, since I'd never even heard of golems before and it just looked like a big pile of rocks with scratchings on it. We had no idea what he was planning on doing, and whenever we tried to ask him a question he would shush us. He painted signs on our foreheads in ash and water and gave me a candle to hold, and Soris a bowl of water.

On his word we walked a circle around the big stone statue, seven times each. Then he read out of his book. When I did the walking I was looking at the floor to keep from tripping over my feet in the clutter of the attic. I didn't notice until later that the scratchings on the thing's face had lit up with a bright red light, and by then it was too late to stop. I don't know what the words he said meant, or what blighted fool had written them for someone else to read. As he spoke the room was filled with wind although no window was open, and when he was done another voice spoke.

"Who wakes me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The invocation in elven is mostly made up based on the elven lexicon on the Dragon Age wikia.


	3. It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the golem has opinions about being woken.

Uncle Cyrion stared at the golem as though he could not quite believe that it had actually spoken.

"I said," repeated the stone beast, casting its head this way and that, "who has awoken me? Who holds the throne of Orzammar? Who fights the horde in the deepest roads?"

A strangled noise came from Uncle's mouth, and I could hardly manage not to giggle. He cleared his throat and spoke more clearly. "You are not in Orzammar, golem. You are on the surface."

"The surface?" said the thing. "What use has the surface for a warrior of Orzammar?"

"I have use for you," said Uncle. "I am the one who woke you."

The golem bore down on my uncle with its hollow eyes, which now glowed with a bright white light. "Oh? What manner of creature is this?"

"I am an elf," said Uncle, his voice cracking, "and I raised you because I require your services."

"It is an elf? It requires my services?"

"That is what I said."

My cousin's urgent whisper caught my attention. "Shianni," he said, "what is going on here?"

"I don't know," I said to him, or maybe I just shook my head. It was a lot to take in.

"I will make you a list," my uncle was saying, "and you will kill them all. Crush their bodies into a fine, wet paste. The arl's son, the arl himself, the king--"

"Uncle, are you mad?" asked Soris.

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" said my uncle.

"You can't kill the king!" Soris went on. "This is insanity!"

"You're right, Soris," said Uncle. "I can't kill the king, or anyone else. That's why this golem will do it for me."

"It seems convinced I will deign to serve its purposes," said the golem. "What if I refuse?"

"You were made to follow orders," said Uncle. "Why should you not follow mine?"

"I was made to fight the Darkspawn, and they do not dwell above ground. Not unless there is a Blight. Is there?"

"A Blight?" said Uncle with a hollow laugh. "Not in four hundred years, and surely not anytime soon."

"Then I must return to Orzammar," said the golem.

"No!" my uncle bellowed, red-faced. "You must stay here and avenge my daughter! Do as I say!"

The golem shifted in its place and its movements shook the rafters. "Does it command me? Does it hold my control rod, to speak with such confidence about what I must do on its behalf?"

Uncle held up the open book in his hands. "The invocation," he said. "I woke you. You answer to me." But his voice shook.

The golem once again looked left and right. "Perhaps I shall tear this miserable little hut down."

"Don't!" I cried out. I don't know what possessed me to speak to it.

It turned and rounded on me. When its eyes looked into mine I knew a fear that I had never known, before or since. "Does it wish me not to demolish this dwelling?" it said quite calmly. "How does it intend to stop me, then?"

"I-- I can't," I admitted, "but please, please don't."

It was silent for what seemed like hours before it said, "Very well."

Without another word, the golem crossed the attic, knocking over some crates and barrels while Soris and I scrambled to get out of the way fast enough. With some difficulty it opened the door of the attic and squeezed down the stairs and out of sight, leaving deep scratches in the wall plaster as it passed.

Uncle sank down to sit on a barrel with a dispirited sigh. "That went well."

Soris opened his mouth to speak, gaped, and then closed it again. He threw his hands in the air and then turned to leave.

"Uncle," I said.

"Run along, Shianni," he said, sighing again. "Get to work if you don't want to lose your job. Leave an old man alone with his thoughts."

I left as he asked, hoping that this would be the last we heard of the golem, but of course that was not to be.


	4. Shale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shianni becomes acquainted with a golem of Orzammar.

The golem returned, of course. First there were the rumors, gossipy hens and drunken louts nattering about a stranger in the alienage, an oxman from across the sea, a ghostly knight in rock armor, an apostate turned abomination. No one wanted to believe something so ridiculous, no matter how many people swore on their grandmothers' graves that they'd seen it with their own eyes. Soris and I didn't say a thing to anyone, and Uncle Cyrion had gone back to locking himself in his house.

The rumors were easy to ignore, the signs less so. Footprints in the mud, bigger and deeper than any human or elf could ever leave. Splotches of blood and sticky feathers smeared against the flagstones. Every now and then, the echoing sound of heavy footsteps, late at night when only beggars and the worst of the drunks were still out on the street. People were afraid; strangers in the alienage were never a good sign, even when they weren't bigger than a Qunari and trailing bloodstains everywhere they went.

I was starting to think I would have to track the golem down, but then it showed up. I saw it late one evening, long after everyone else had fallen asleep, not a fortnight after Uncle had dragged us to that attic. I opened the shutters to let in some of the night air and there it was, a silhouette in the dark, outlined by the glow of the runes marked on its head and neck. We stared at one another for some time while I stood frozen, waiting for the golem to dash my head right off my body with its enormous stone fists.

"It seems I cannot go to Orzammar," the golem said.

"Wh-- what?"

"Do its soft flesh ears not hear me properly? I said, I cannot go to Orzammar."

I was starting to get pretty irritated. This golem had scared everyone in the alienage out of their minds, and here it was! Standing in front of my window as calm as a puddle on a still day, telling me all about its plans to go to Maker-knows-where and leave squishy bloodstains all over their vhenadahl square. "Of _course_ you can't go to Orzammar!" I whispered, furious. "It's hundreds of miles away. No one can travel that far alone."

"If I cannot go to Orzammar, I do not know what I can do," said the golem. "I am not familiar with this place. I know no one here. Where am I?"

I groaned. "You could have asked this civilly, before you stormed off and scared the daylights out of everyone here, stomping around in the middle of the night like a big rocky ghost."

"Stormed off?" said the golem. "I did not storm off. It was trying to order me about, which it has no authority to do. What did it expect me to do? Remain and follow its orders to assassinate its king?"

"Hey!" I said defensively. "I never ordered you to do anything, and I'm not an ' _it_ '. My name is Shianni."

The golem stared at me again with its disconcertingly hollow eyes. "Is it an elf as well, like the other one?"

"I'm not-- Never mind," I sighed. "Yes, I'm an elf. Everyone here is. This is an alienage."

"I do not know what that is. We have no such things in Orzammar."

I wondered whether golems could be confused. It sure didn't look any different in the face than when it was threatening to squish someone. "You never told me your name."

"My name?"

"Yes," I said, with all the patience I could muster. "I told you my name, now you tell me yours. It's polite."

The golem tilted its head. "I am called Shale."

"Shale," I said, "I wish I could say it was nice meeting you."

"I will still not murder its king for it," said Shale.

"I never asked you to murder anyone," I said, "although there are much better things you could be turning your violence on than every pigeon in the city."

"Nonsense!" said Shale. "There is no greater menace than pigeons, except perhaps the Darkspawn."

"Well, there's no Darkspawn in Denerim," I told it, "and I doubt there ever will be."

"Denerim," Shale repeated slowly. "Is that where I am?"

"North of Dragon's Peak, by the banks of the River Drakon, lies the city of Denerim," I recited from memory, "capital of Ferelden and the ancestral seat of its kings and queens."

"I know none of the names of the surface kingdoms," said Shale. "How do I get from Denerim to Orzammar?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea," I said. "I don't even know where Orzammar is. I _can_ tell you that you can't just wander around the city stepping on pigeons. You'll alert the city guard, and then what will you do?"

"Squish them?" suggested Shale.

" _Every_ guard in the city?" I asked, very reasonably I thought. "You'll just get into even more trouble. If they don't have a dungeon that can hold a golem, they'll build one. Trust me, you do _not_ want to get on their bad side."

"I see," said Shale.

"Actually, maybe they'll want to hire you _into_ the guard," I said. "Maybe you _should_ talk to the king. If anyone is sending a caravan to Orzammar you can join, it'll definitely be him."

"Oh?" said Shale. "I did not think you were fond of this king."

"It's true," I admitted, "I'm not his greatest admirer. But I never said anything about killing him, so don't go telling the guard I did!"

"Oh, no," said Shale. "I would not wish to implicate it in a crime unless I was absolutely certain it was indeed guilty."

"That's... reassuring," I said, dubious. "Anyway, this isn't really my problem, is it? If you cross that bridge over there," I pointed in the direction of the bridge, "you'll get to the Denerim marketplace. From there, you can get anywhere in the city. Find the palace and ask for the ambassador to Orzammar."

"Does Ferelden have an ambassador to Orzammar?" asked Shale.

I shrugged. "It might."

"It does not know for certain?"

"The king and queen so rarely consult me about their foreign policy efforts," I said, feeling snappish.

"It is mocking me," said Shale.

"This is all the help I can give you, Shale," I said, "unless you want to work in a bakery."

"It is beneath me to labor like an artisan," said Shale.

"Thought so."

Shale stared at me for some time more. "What will I do?"

I shook my head. "I don't know, Shale. Good night."

I closed the shutters and went to bed, where I lay staring at the ceiling for I don't know how long. Just before I finally fell asleep it dawned on me that Shale was my problem now, if only because no one else knew about it. At least, no one who would be likely to do anything about it. Just what I needed, more trouble. As if the wedding and then the execution weren't already more than enough.


	5. Banter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shianni and Shale each learn something about the other's world.

"Not every problem can be crushed into submission, Shale."

Shale came back the next night, and again for many nights after. It was odd, sitting so many nights under the vhenadahl in the dead of night, trying to explain to a golem, of all things, how the world worked: who had the power and who didn't; what was safe, and what would get you arrested or worse; and why people did the things they did. That last one, I didn't always know myself. How could I explain it to a creature so different from me?

At least Shale didn't eat, or get hungry, or need anything else material. To this day I don't know where it went during the day or when I wasn't around. It surely did not need sleep, which it reminded me of very often, as part of a more general explanation of why flesh creatures were inferior and should be crushed. When I asked Shale how long it had been in the store's attic it couldn't even guess.

"Everything was dark and still," said Shale. "Sometimes people came in, but they never looked at me or touched me. I was alone, except for the birds."

"The birds?" I asked.

"Oh, yes," said Shale. "Many birds built their nests on me while I was immobile. Many filthy, smelly pests and their filthy, smelly offspring."

No wonder it hated them so much.

"Has there really not been a Blight in so many years?" Shale asked me one night.

"I don't know," I said. "I don't know the first thing about Darkspawn. They didn't teach us that at school."

"It should ask the elder elf," said Shale. "The elder elf seemed to know some things that it does not know."

"Uncle does have a lot of books," I said, "but I don't know if he'll let me into his house to read them."

"If it wants, I could break the door down for it," said Shale.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Shale," I said.

"It does not like the lords of the city," Shale observed another time.

"What tipped you off?" I asked.

"When it speaks of them, it uses many inventive oaths," said Shale.

"I was being sarcastic, Shale," I said.

"Oh, I know," said Shale. "My intent was to convey that it should work on its delivery."

"I appreciate the critique," I said. "Why are you asking about that now?"

"I have overheard the other flesh creatures discussing the lord that the elder elf mentioned," said Shale, "and their terms were equally unendearing. This Arl of Denerim is not very popular in his own city."

"Only in the alienage," I said. "I don't think the _shem_ have any particular problem with him."

"I am baffled by this distinction," said Shale, not for the first time. "I have seen many elves and humans and I do not think they are so very different from one another. All are equally weak and insipid creatures which, if not easily crushed underfoot, will shortly expire of old age or some foul illness. They are both comparably abhorrent to me."

"Did you want me to tell you about the last Blight?" I asked.

"Is this connected to the subject of elves and humans?" asked Shale.

"Actually, it is," I said, "if you'd believe it."

"I see no need to believe or disbelieve," said Shale, "if only it would tell me so that I may know."

"I will!" I said. "Have some patience."

"I was patient for many years in that attic," said Shale. "I believe that virtue has been exhausted in me."

"Fair enough," I said, and recited back the words from mother’s book, as though I were at lessons. "The Fourth Blight took place four hundred years ago when the Archdemon Andoral awoke and raised a horde of Darkspawn. It ended when the Grey Warden Garahel killed him. Her? Can Archdemons be 'her'?"

"What difference might that make?" asked Shale. "And what is this to do with our previous subject of discussion?"

"Garahel was an elf," I said, "and he was the hero of the Fourth Blight."

"Does it mean to say that if there is another Blight, it could become a hero like Garahel and bring an end to the persecution of its people?" asked Shale.

I snorted inelegantly. "Don't be absurd. I'm no hero, and there's not going to be another Blight."

Well, the joke was on me, because the very next week King Cailan announced that he was marching south to Ostagar to fight the Darkspawn horde. Then came the news that Ostagar fell, and the king was dead, and so was the Arl of Denerim. Shortly after the news came, his son and heir disappeared and neither hide nor hair of him could be found. Before we knew it everything my uncle had wished for had come to pass. It seemed like a strange curse, but I didn't believe in curses. Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe men's evils really were visited back upon them sevenfold. Although it was hard to imagine that Vaughan Kendalls received sevenfold what he visited upon me.

"You have been denied vengeance."

"I wasn't looking for revenge," I said, probably a little sharper than I'd meant to. "I already know how that story ends."

"How does that story end?" asked Shale.

"With me hanged and quartered and him walking free," I said.

"In Orzammar," said Shale, "you could have fought him in the Provings, and if the ancestors favored you, you would be declared the righteous victor before all who watched."

"Or," I said patiently, "the nobleman who's been trained to arms since childhood would slaughter the elf-maid who bakes cookies for a living, and after her blood was smeared all over the proving-grounds, every high-born piece of scum in the city would chatter that the uppity lying slattern had it coming."

"It is very stubborn in its bleakness," said Shale.

I could only shrug.

"There's a Blight now," I said to Shale on another occasion. "At least, if the rumors are true."

"Perhaps there is," said Shale. "What of it?"

"You said the Darkspawn were the greatest evil in the world, after the pigeons," I reminded it. "I thought you would want to go to the front and fight them. Join the army, maybe, or the Grey Wardens."

"I have been listening to the flesh sacks as they talked amongst themselves," said Shale. "Much of what they said was disconcerting. The Grey Wardens and the topsider armies have turned upon each other, and the Wardens were all but wiped out. Once, the Wardens had commanded the respect of Orzammar's warrior caste. I had thought them less feeble than their surface-dwelling peers, but perhaps I misjudged them."

"What about the Fereldan army?" I asked. "Right now, they're the only army fighting the Darkspawn."

"This is true," admitted Shale. "It seems this realm's army might present my best hope of fighting the Blight, if indeed this is one. Yet, I do not wish to be hasty. I would so hate to pledge my allegiance to a weak command."

"The regent might be a lot of things," I said, "but I doubt you could call him weak."

"That," said Shale, "remains to be seen. If the rumors in the marketplace are even remotely true, Denerim remains the only part of Ferelden that is not in turmoil."

At that I frowned. "It can't be as bad as all that."

"In Orzammar," said Shale, "turmoil of this sort could only end with the reigning king deposed, possibly via a knife in his back, or poison in his ale."

"So," I said, blatantly changing the subject, "you still don't have _any_ plans?"

"It is judging me," said Shale tersely. "This is a time of great turmoil. I cannot be expected to make this decision lightly."

"Shale," I said, "you can't stay in the alienage forever."

"I don't see why not," said Shale. "I can do as I please."

Without further warning, it got up and stomped away into the night. There was nothing for me to do but go home and go to bed. I slept poorly, and all the next day I was distracted and kept neglecting my work. Shale's words worried me, but I didn't know what it could mean by them. Stay in the alienage? Why would anyone who wasn't an elf do that?


	6. Libel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shale brings Shianni some disturbing news.

"I heard a rumor in the marketplace."

Finally I had an idea of what Shale did when it was not talking my ear off. "Oh?" I said. "Is that where you spend your days? Eavesdropping in the marketplace?"

"It is hard for a golem to be stealthy," said Shale. "I, however, have had a great deal of practice standing still enough to be taken for a statue."

"You pretend to be a statue and then people tell all their secrets around you?" I said. "Good plan. You could learn something useful."

"Bah!" said Shale. "There is little to be heard that is useful. It is all the usual idle gossip that flesh creatures often indulge in."

"Doesn't anyone notice when the statue disappears from day to day, though?" I asked.

"One would think," said Shale, who did not put much stock in the wits of human beings. "However, I am quite careful to place myself in out-of-the-way corners, and so no one spares me a second glance. I imagine it is much like being a member of the servants' caste; no one looks at them, either, if it can be helped."

Servants' caste? I set that observation aside to think about later. "Anyway," I deflected, "you said you heard an interesting rumor."

"No," corrected Shale. "I merely said I heard a rumor, and it inferred it to be of interest."

"Fine," I said, swallowing a sigh of frustration.

"Perhaps it will be of interest to it, all the same," said Shale. "Or to the elder elf."

At the mention of my uncle, my curiosity was piqued.

"Well?" demanded Shale. "Is it interested to hear the gossip, or not?"

I rubbed my eyes. "Yes, Shale. Please tell me what you overheard in the marketplace."

"Several grubby men, smelling of cheap ale and carrying swords, believe the Arl of Denerim intends to raid the alienage in search of illegal weapons."

"Oh, balls."

The edict against carrying weapons had been issued before our parents were born, but was rarely enforced as long as no one flouted it in public. If the new arl's men-at-arms came storming into the alienage, they could pick up any old rusty dagger that someone had lying about, and charge them with violating the king's law. Stranger or no, Shale was right about Uncle needing to know this.

"Will you inform the elder elf?"

"Yes, Shale," I said. "First thing before dawn, on my way to the bakery."

"Good," said Shale. "I... would not wish to see a massacre in this place. It is unarmed and untrained, and excessively squishable."

I was almost touched. I had to wonder what it cost Shale to admit to something like that. I wanted to say _thank you_ , but all that came out was, "Don't worry, I'll take care of it."

And I did. On the morning, I went to Uncle's house and pounded on his door until he conceded to open it a crack. He was not as poorly off as he'd been just a few weeks ago, though his hair needed cutting and there was a faint, unpleasant odor of mold in the room. At least, I thought hopefully, he was eating and sleeping, and thank Andraste for the smallest of all mercies. When I told him what I had learned, his brow creased.

"Where did you hear this?" he asked. "Have you been going to the marketplace after hours?"

"Of course not, Uncle," I said. "I... I heard it at work."

His frown deepened but he didn't inquire any further. Briefly I wondered if he ever thought of the golem that he had unleashed or if he simply put the whole sordid affair out of his mind.

"I will speak with Elder Valendrian," he said finally. "Perhaps he can negotiate with the arl's men on our behalf."

He sounded skeptical, but there was little else that I could do. Instead I rushed to make my way to the bakery and took out my pent-up frustrations on the bread dough. We learned that sometimes fortunes rise and fall like a sudden summer storm. You can bend your head and hope for the best, or you can struggle and be uprooted. For my family, the uprooting was a very real threat; our grandmother and her siblings had been cast out of Ansburg when the alienage there was purged, more than fifty years ago. I didn't need to be reminded that the same thing could happen in Denerim.

I don't recall whether Elder Valendrian came to speak with my boss that day, or the next. I _do_ know that he visited several of the other shops in the alienage, and I remember how the gossips milled around the vhenadahl, clicking and hissing and fussing. He had tried to keep the news quiet, especially given its source, but in the alienage whatever one person knows soon becomes common knowledge. The rumor mill is what holds up the walls, is what my father used to say.

When I told Shale of the upset that its news had stirred, the golem did not seem all that impressed.

"Is that all your community elders intend to do?" it asked. "Gossip idly like scullery maids?"

"Why?" I turned the question back on it. "What would you have them do? Raise arms against the city guard? The _shem_ in the city outnumber us ten to one, at least."

"Only the weak accept their fate without a struggle," said Shale. "I would never consent to being treated this way, and neither should it."

"Shale!" I said, scandalized. "Not a week ago you told me Dust Town was worse than any alienage. If you're going to disrespect my home and my people, at the very least you could stand to be consistent about it."

Shale harrumphed, or as near as a stone golem can to it.

“Look,” I said, not unreasonably I think, “we don't even know what spurred this new oversight. If we had an idea of why the arl was fixing on the alienage, maybe we could make arrangements, broker some sort of deal. The alienage's intendance is set in the King's law, after all.”

The truth is, I knew what brought the arl's ire on the alienage, or at least I thought I did. Of course, Shale didn't know about the wedding and everything that happened after, and I wasn't about to be the one to tell it.

“It is content to wallow in helplessness and grovel before the lords of the city forever?”

My fists went to my hips almost before I noticed. “Do I _look_ content?”

“Well, then,” said Shale, “it will find a way to end this absurdity. Perhaps I can learn what provoked the city's men against it, and then it shall use this information against the arl. After all, if it died now, I should not be able to gloat at its infirmity in old age.”

“Thank you, Shale,” I said, dryly. “That's very touching.”

“Then it will take my advice?”

I couldn't think of a way to put it off. “I'll try my best, Shale.”

“Bah!” it said. “I have decided; this event must not transpire.”

“Just...” I started to say, and fumbled the words. “Just don't do anything reckless. Please.”

For a time we sat in silence listening to the rustling of the vhenadahl's branches in the winds, and all the myriad little sounds that filled the night's quiet. I drank down my ale and dared to hope that Shale had listened to reason and would not put its giant stone fists into a pie it couldn't get them back out of. After all, despite our current predicament, the troubles of the Denerim alienage were of no concern to a golem of Orzammar, as Shale itself had enlightened me to more than once.

I was yawning deeply and had all but resolved to go to bed when Shale got up with a groan of its many stones. When I turned to say good night, it spoke first.

"If you do not take action against this," said Shale, its voice crumpling curiously, "then perhaps I shall do it in your stead."

And it turned heel and walked away, its heavy footsteps echoing against the square's flagstones. I was too stunned to react, although I knew that whatever the intervention Shale had planned, it could only bring more unwanted attention to the alienage. Still, what could I have done to stop it? I didn't know then, and I don't know now.


	7. Unearthed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Shale uncovers a hidden truth.

We soon learned what Shale's plan was.

I woke bleary-eyed and wild-haired and had to rush through my morning chores in order to avoid being late for work. Once I'd stormed into the bakery, breathless and out-of-sorts, there was nothing to think of but stuffing turnovers and keeping the bread from burning. My mind was free to wander – and worry. It was a long morning, but all waits end, no matter how long and excruciating. Morning was busy but uneventful. Only the usual customers came in, impatiently waiting for the first loaves of the day. When the store was empty my boss went off to drink salep and gossip with the other shopkeepers, while I resentfully stayed behind in the gloomy shop to scrub the floor.

Late in the afternoon, the news started making rounds. Busy with the cleaning and resentment, I was so distracted I almost didn't notice the commotion in the street outside. Several loud voices were talking over each other, one of them belonging to my boss. Curiosity won out over the threat of punishment, and I abandoned my scrub brush to eavesdrop through the shutter slats. I knew immediately that they were talking about Shale, although no one but me knew so.

In all fairness, it was far more cunning than I had ever given it credit for. The interference it plotted was not nearly as provocative as I had feared. How a great, lumbering stone statue with echoing footsteps managed to traipse all over Denerim playing detective with no one the wiser is beyond my ken. Maybe there are some things best not dwelt on. At any rate it had more success than me in spywork, since I had never before managed to discover who was behind the accusations that led to the Guard's raids on the alienage, and not for lack of trying.

 _Shem_ were rarely welcome in the alienage, and elves even less so in the market. Outside jobs were confined to service in noble houses. My uncle, and others like him, would leave before first light and return just before curfew, and had no time to loiter on the way to or from their workplace. Opportunities for conflict were limited – by design. Nonetheless it was a hostile interaction of this sort that created the grudge that led to our recent troubles, even though messes like this are the exact reason why the alienage walls were built to begin with. Not that this was the first time the walls had failed to do their job.

Curfew or not, dealings between humans and elves were common enough. Working at a bakery, all of my business was with my neighbors, but others whose trade was less commonplace had wares which were of interest to people from the outside. Deals were struck, goods and money were exchanged, hands were shaken. Sometimes debts were acquired. Not all of the debtors felt themselves bound to repay.

It came to light that a butcher from the outer city had found his way inside our walls. His butcher shop had attracted a large number of rats, and he was in search of a poison that would solve his problems. One alienage shop had a city-wide reputation for stocking toxins of all sorts, especially of the herbs that sometimes grew wild in kitchen gardens or from the cracks between cobblestones. It was not spoken of openly, but I knew about it because that was where I'd learned everything I know about poisons.

This butcher came to Alarith's shop and struck a very cordial deal with him, bought a quantity of rat poison and paid half in advance, promising the second half of the payment once he'd verified that the goods did their job. When Alarith came to knock at his door, inquiring after his money, the butcher put him off with excuses. Pressed for coin he'd already spent elsewhere, the butcher took the only logical course of action and turned to the Chantry for succor.

In the Chantry he happened upon a man, a lay brother by the name of Thaddeus.

Uncle Cyrion had been drawn out of his room by the furor in the street. When he heard that name spoken he turned and spat on the ground.

“I know this man,” he said. “We've had dealings in the past.”

Brother Thaddeus held a great grudge against my uncle. I don't know why. He never spoke of it again after that day, and I never asked. But I will always remember the look in his eyes when he spoke of him. I'd never imagined to see such a hateful expression on his face, not even after the wedding. As the rumors spread from shop to shop, it wasn't hard to see why.

When the butcher came to Thaddeus and told him of his troubles, the brother devised a plan that would absolve him of his payment and forestall any embarrassment that might arise from the hanging debt. Using the very herbs he had never paid for, he intended to accuse Alarith of poisoning the Chantry well. Whether he actually intended to poison it, or just to plant the so-called evidence for the city guard to find, no one knows.

Not that it mattered very much, because on that very morning the butcher woke to find himself badly battered and trussed like a roasting pig, left at the doorstep of the Arl of Denerim's estate along with his ill-gotten goods. When the arl's men prodded him for answers he tried to feign ignorance, laying the blame on Alarith by name and the alienage as a whole. I imagine the guardsmen would have handily believed him, if he hadn't sworn by Andraste's ashes that the elves had sent a ten foot tall Qunari to stalk and beat him.

He had little credibility, especially when it became clear that the herb he was planning on framing Alarith with was toxic to rats, but not to humans. The only reason he'd come into his shop to begin with was to find a poison that he could spread around his shop without affecting the butchered meat. With his lies laid bare he had little recourse but to spill the ugly truth and throw himself upon the Arl's mercy, pointing a finger at Brother Thaddeus as the true source of the plot.

Arl Howe is notoriously unmerciful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The denouement is almost identical to the version of _The Golem of Prague_ that I was working from, which is why I tagged this story as a fusion.


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our tale concludes.

I saw Shale one more time after that.

“The Darkspawn,” it said, “are an evil that must be crushed.”

It was past midnight. We were standing under the vhenadahl as we had so many times before. The night was clear and starry and impossibly cold, and I shivered under the scrap wool stole I had borrowed from my mother. I'd climbed out my window in a hurry when I heard the distant but unmistakable echo of golem footsteps, to find it waiting for me.

“So you _do_ intend to fight in the war?” I asked. I could not fathom why it would make such a decision now, after having deferred it for so long.

“That is what I was made for,” said Shale. “It is my purpose; it must be.”

“Will the Fereldan army accept you as a recruit?”

“Bah!” it said. “It should not take such pride in its nation's army. They are feeble, and their commander holds no authority.”

I didn't mention that I'd never expressed any Fereldan patriotism to it. “Where, then? Ferelden is the only nation where the Blight has spread, and there are no more Grey Wardens here. Orzammar is five hundred miles away, Shale.”

“I know,” it said, “but there are Grey Wardens in other kingdoms.”

A leaden pit grew deep in my stomach.

Shale went on talking obliviously. “I shall join the Grey Wardens and convince them to come here.”

“Here, to Denerim?” I asked without conviction. “The regent will never allow foreign troops to land here, Grey Wardens or no.”

“I am not asking its permission.”

I shook my head, but said nothing. I doubted very much that golems could be hanged.

“Unless the Blight is stopped soon, it will reach this city and everything beyond it, destroying all that lies in its path.”

“You intend to _walk_ to the border?” I asked.

“Yes,” said Shale, “and I must leave immediately.”

“Wait, you're leaving right now?”

“That is what 'immediately' means.”

I had not been prepared for that. I suppose I knew that a golem could not stay in Denerim forever, certainly not in the alienage. Still, after weeks of seeing Shale almost every night, I started to believe that maybe it had no intention of leaving. Now that the time had come, I was at a loss for words.

Shale was still talking. “Do try not to be squished,” it was saying, “before the Darkspawn horde reaches the city. If the Grey Wardens do not arrive, perhaps you could talk the Archdemon to death. Yes, I'm certain you could.”

I smiled, but I think my voice shook when I replied. “I suppose I could, if you don't manage to stop the horde yourself. Safe travel, Shale. Orlais is a long way away.”

 

* * *

 

Rumors of Shale's actions during its brief stay became hearty gossip material, and over time the giant of the alienage became one of Denerim's staple legends. Uncle Cyrion never spoke to me of it, but I think he knew, or at least suspected, who that mysterious giant was. Arl Howe renewed the ban on humans entering the alienage, and posted guards on the bridge from the outer city. Brother Thaddeus was reprimanded; if not for the war, he might have been sent to some remote village to serve a year's penance. For months, the alienage remained quiet.

Of course, such a quiet could never last. _Shem_ came again, bringing trouble with them. Before the wedding, I'd never been one to lie low and hope for the best, but there was so little I could do when I had no weapon but my anger. There was no mysterious stalking monster to terrify our enemies till they confessed their crimes. Shale wasn't there anymore, but someone else was, and this time I wasn't afraid to ask for help when I needed it. That's an altogether different story, though.

This is the story of Shale, a golem of Orzammar, who was my friend for a few short months during the darkest time in my life. Shale, who had protected my friends when I couldn't, had wished to teach me to fight, but instead taught me not to fight alone.


End file.
